Trapped
by onehundredpercentcat
Summary: What if Sherlock Holmes had a daughter? What if she dealt with all of the emotional turmoil left behind from his life?
1. Chapter 1: Temper

"Mrs. Holmes!" the secretary called out as I strode forward towards the elevator.

"Dammit. Go away Victoria," I mumbled.

I might not have had my father, Sherlock Holmes' brilliance or shrewdness but I sure did have his attitude.

"What do you want? I've got a meeting in less than ten minutes, Victoria. Be quick about it," I said to her in an impatient tone.

"Mr. Abbott would like a word with you."

"Oh bloody Christ. Not that sorry bastard again."

"Your words, Miss!" she hissed, glancing around the room nervously.

"Get off it," I replied and began to strut off away from her.

"Mrs. Holmes!"

Ignoring her, I pressed the down button on the elevator and taped the tip of my heel, nervously.

"Mrs. Holmes!"

"Dammit, Victoria. I said-"

Mr Abbott's honey brown eyes stared down at me and I cursed under my breath. Mr. Abbott was my extremely annoying coworker who constantly flirted with me whenever he got the chance. Just standing next to him made me feel sick.

"Go away, Alex," I murmured, veering closer towards the elevator's opening door.

"I'm going to a meeting downstairs in the conference room in ten minutes; I can't go away until I get downstairs."

"You're going to that meeting too? Christ almighty."

"I'm sorry, Frey, I can't help what _your_ uncle has planned!"

He was right. My uncle, Mycroft Holmes, was the boss of the entire company. Father never liked Mycroft, but I knew he loved him. And to others it would be "of course he loved him, it was his brother!". My father didn't work that way. He loved the people that he choose to. He didn't simply _fall_ in love. Love to my father was something that was to be controlled. A methodical, planned process in which he exerted absolute and total supremacy over. Just like he did everything else in his life. Well, excluding my Godfather, John Watson, and his long lost lover, Irene Adler. They were the only two things and people in his life that he couldn't control. I think in some way, he liked the mystery of them. I mean, he was, as he liked to distinguish himself as, a consulting detective. On the other hand, I think John and Irene drove him mad. I had always been like my father to an extent. Control freak, witty, arrogant, sarcastic, and instead of a line in the sand for a boundary, he and I built walls. And that was exactly what I was doing with Alex Abbott; I was building a wall between us so that I could feel safe.

After a moment's reflection I sucked in a deep breath and retorted, "You could take the stairs, you know."

"So you're saying that I should walk down six flights of stairs just because of your deep disgust for me as a human being? The bloody hell I won't. You keep yourself to yourself and I'll keep myself to myself. It's only a minute long ride and then we will go to our meeting and if you'd like, we can sit on the opposite side of the table. How about it, sweetie pie?" he remarked, sarcastically.

"That's fine and dandy, Alex, but you'll never get to the meeting if you don't actually step inside of the elevator first," I replied as I stood inside of the elevator with my free hand on my hip and a smirk across my face.

"Oh and by the way," I added as he shuffled in beside me, awkwardly, "you sound like a girl when you talk."


	2. Chapter 2: Silence

My tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth in a nervous manner. Being as close as I was to Alex made chilled shudders shoot throughout my body. Maybe it was because I was so closed off as a person. I never liked it when men tried to show affection towards me; infact, I never liked it when I was less than five feet away from a man. I was twenty five years old and I had never been kissed before in my entire life by any one of the opposite gender except for my father's soft, but unexpected pecks on the cheek before I went to bed at night.

"Frey," Alex said, clearly more comfortable than I was at the moment. "I think you dropped some lipstick on the floor."

I glanced down to where he was pointing and my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "It's not lipstick," I scowled, bending down to pick it up, "it's chapstick."

"What's the difference?"

Choosing to ignore his question I replied, "Don't call me Frey."

"Why not?"

"Is it your goal in life to consistently pry into my personal life, Alex?"

"No."

"Just like you said. I'm keeping myself to myself, so you keep yourself to-"

The impending sound of shots and painful cries pounded in my ears, stopping me midway through my sentence.

"What the hell was that?"

"I don't know; I'm not a genius!"

"Well your father was."

"I'm not my father, Ale-"

Mycroft's unusually worried voice blared through the speaker towards the right of the elevator. "Everyone remain calm. Remain. Calm. All systems of transportation and wifi will be shut down until we are able to track down the source of the shooting. The police are on their way now;everyone will be okay. Remember to remain calm and keep silent until we are able to capture the man responsible for the shooting inside the building."

The elevator came to an abrupt stop, shaking both Alex and I. I gripped onto the railing with my sweaty palms in an attempt to steady myself. Unfortunately, I received my Mother's genes for severe anxiety in strenuous situations. Alex standing close beside me and grazing my shoulder lightly with his hand was not helping.

"Get off of me."

"I'm trying to comfort you here! You look awful."

"Oh, thanks."

As if unable to pull himself away, he kept a steady hand on my back and rubbed his palm across my sweater.

"We're going to be okay, Freya. As your uncle said-"

"Shut up, I'm trying to think!"

I pressed into my temples with firm fingers and breathed through shuddered breaths.

 _Why would anyone want to target our office? All we do is paperwork!_

I remembered my father and tried to imitate him. He would always put his hands to the side of his head and purse his lips together meditatively when given a problem. On many of days, I would come home from school and see him sitting in the loveseat in that position, thinking. When he was in those states I used to sit in the loveseat on the opposite side of the room and try to copy him. And when I would look up after a moment's silence, his loveseat would be empty.

"Dammit," I breathed and began to pace back and forth across the elevator.

"Freya, calm down. There's nothing we can do."

"Yes there is. We just haven't thought of it yet."

"Okay, alright Ms. Father's Daughter. What are we going to do in a stopped, enclosed elevator more than 10 feet off of the ground?"

 _He's got a point._

"Look Alex, I'm not giving up until I've outruled all possible scenarios."

"Oh, okay. How many scenarios have you come up with so far?"

I laughed nervously and replied, "You see, that's the thing-"

"So none?"

I grinned at him, almost sarcastic enthusiasm, and leaned back against the wall of the elevator.

"Do you want to talk about something?" Alex asked as he drummed his fingers against the railing.

"Why is it that when there is silence, it always has to be filled? Can't silence just be silence and not have to be forced into awkward conversation? When there is need for conversation, so be it. Until then-and I'm going to ask you politely, will you please shut up?"

"Manners and etiquette with world class lady, Freya Holmes!" he mocked. I could see him smirking in the corner of my eye.

"If you're as funny as you think you are, than you would have your own comedy show and a billion dollars. But you don't have either of those, do you?"

No response to that one. Good. Just what I wanted. Complete and utter silence.


	3. Chapter 3: Bad Habits

"Alex," I whispered, almost subconsciously.

"Yeah?"

"This really sucks," I replied, my voice rising. "Like it really sucks."

"I know, Freya. You just have to keep a positive attitude and-"

"No, I don't want you to be supportive! Stop being your version of a therapist for just one minute. Please," I said and sucked in a breath before continuing, "It sucks that we can't help people who are dying. And don't you start patting my back and telling me that there's nothing we can do anyways. I know that. Can you just-"

"I know, Freya. It does suck," he replied as he started down at the tiled flooring.

"Agree with me," I finished and began to slide down onto the ground.

"Freya?"

"Yes?"

"Why won't you allow me to call you Frey?"

"Because," I breathed, "that's what my father used to call me."

"Oh. Is your father-"

"Dead? No. He has alzheimer's. It's been kind of a cosmic joke that he's dying from losing his memory. Now, he doesn't even remember my name. The only person he _does_ remember is Irene Adler. I don't know why, but somewhere deep down in my psyche, I hate her. I really do. I despise Irene Adler. She's just-"

"Who is this Irene Adler if I may ask?"

"My father's long lost lover. He was assigned to her case and fell in love with her. It was many years ago. Even before I was born."

He slid down beside me onto the floor and played with a piece of my hair.

"Was it always blond?"

"My hair? No. I dyed it."

"Why?"

"When I had darker hair, before I came to this office to work for my uncle, my father used to think that I was Irene. That big arse brain of his was messing with him. It's funny to think of him getting something wrong."

"Why are you telling me all of this?"

 _Why am I telling Alex Abbott the story of my life?_

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No. I'd like to see you come out from behind your wall. You've always intrigued me, Freya. Sometimes I find it hard to stay away…"

 _Red alert! Red alert!_

"Get away from me, Alex," I hissed and began to scoot to the opposite side of the elevator.

"I wasn't going to do anything! I just thought as long as we were confessing our feelings here…"

"I wasn't 'confessing my feelings', Alex. I was telling you about my father. I'm sure he wouldn't approve of you anyways."

"Why not?"

"For that exact reason."

"What?"

"I know this is depressing, but you're dumb. And what's even more depressing is that you don't even know that you're dumb. You ask entirely too many questions when the answer should really be right in front of you. Can't you think outside of the little box that is your brain and do some things for yourself?"

"How am I supposed to know about your personal life?"

"Why would you even ask about it?"

"I already told you Freya. You intrigue me."

"If you can see that I'm clearly uncomfortable with you asking me those questions, why do you progress?"

"Okay, if your father wouldn't have asked questions, do you think he would've been such a great detective?"

" _Consulting_ detective," I gritted through my teeth. "And no, he didn't _ask_ questions, he bloody answered them!"

Silence. It was a pleasant thing at the time, but the longer it sat in, the more guilt I felt. Father never felt guilt. That and many other unexplainable reasons is why my mother and father divorced. Mother was always a soft and gentle soul while Father was straightforward and obsessive. She grew not to like that about him, and filed for a divorce. Less than two months after the divorce, she married another man, Connor Baskin. They had a daughter, one who was seven years younger than I, named Poppy Scarlett Baskin. Her middle name was the same as my mother's. Shortly after Poppy's birth,Connor shot and killed my mother while at the shooting range "on accident".

My mum's death bred a deep hate for men inside of me; a hate as deep as a cut straight to the ivory of my bones. It was an involuntary hate, almost as if a dark cloak had befallen upon me that was somehow attached to my skin. Talking to Alex, and Alex especially, made a nervous tingling spread throughout my body. I could hardly bare to look him in the eye. Maybe that's why I was so cruel towards him; it made the nervousness cease to spread and I felt more assured.


	4. Chapter 4: Two Birds With One Stone

We sat curled up in balls on opposite sides of the elevator with our heads pressed against the walls. Alex had nearly drifted off to sleep while I was wide awake and fully alert. We hadn't talked in about an hour, and some part of me that I had never known before to exist was genuinely worried about him.

 _Mum's genes._

"Alex? Are you okay?"

"Why would you care?" he mumbled, the sulk across his face deeply written into the sparse lines of wrinkles around his mouth. "I'm just a dumb circus clown, like you said. I'd just be taking up your time, oh wise one."

"You don't understand me."

"I know I don't understand you and I probably never will."

"Have you ever heard of the name Scarlett Marie Hampton?"

"It sounds familiar," he replied, sounding as if he was perking up a bit.

"The Scarlett Hampton murder of 1998?"

"Hmm.."

"Okay, what about Connor Baskin."

"Yeah, that name is familiar."

"Where'd you hear it?"

"Connor Baskin is my mum's brother."

Astounded, my hands fluttered to my flushed cheeks and I gasped.

"Are you kidding me right now?"

"No, I'm serious. My mum's name is Holly Baskin. She had a sister, Alexandra, and a brother, Connor. Funny enough, I actually got my name from Alexandra. And what's so significant about Connor? Did you know him?"

Ignoring his questions, I continued with the inquiry, "Do you have a cousin named Poppy? She's Connor's daughter."

"How did you know about Poppy? Wait, this is getting a little weird; how do you know so many members of my family?"

"Poppy is my half sister, Alex. My mum divorced my dad, married Connor, had Poppy, and…"

"And what?"

"He murdered my mum."

His dark eyes widened with curiosity and I peculiar look crept across his face.

"Didn't know your uncle was a murderer did you, Alex?"

"No," he whispered. "I'm-I'm so very sorry. Mum never talks about Connor. He hasn't been to the weekly Sunday dinners at my nana's s in over...twenty years."

"He married my mum twenty years ago," I breathed, tears glinting in my eyes.

"Do you want me to…," he trailed, squirming closer towards me along the wall.

He then sat beside me and rubbed my back softly with his hand. I ignored the churning in my stomach and stayed there, letting him touch me.

"So we're technically sort of related?"

I breathed a shaky laugh and replied, "Yeah. Kinda. You're more related to Poppy than me, but I guess you could count it as if we were related."

"That's funny to even think about."

"Yeah I know I never would've... Wait."

A silvery mist traveled in through the air vent and circulated around ceiling. It was an intrinsic thing, making me almost believe that it was supposed to be there. Suddenly, I snapped back into myself and realized that Mycroft's hurried voice was coming from the speaker.

"We have reason to believe that the shooter _is_ inside one of the elevators. We have dispersed toxic gas into the air vent's of each elevator. The toxin is not deadly, but it will cause you to lose consciousness. However, in rare cases, some people may die from this particular toxin if they have been exposed to it multiple times. We are extremely sorry to those innocent civilians who are having to endure this because of our uncertainty about the exact location of the shooter, but in order to deaden the risk of any other innocent civilian getting hurt, we are forced to take this precautionary measure.

"What the-"

"Hell," I finished, and scrambled up towards the locked metal door on the side of the wall.

"What are you doing? Mycroft said that we would be fine. It's just going to knock us out temporarily."

"I used to be in the military, Alex. Not for very long, but long enough to have received extensive training. In that training, we were exposed to many kinds of toxins, including those that do the exact same things that this one does."

"And Mycroft said that if you have been exposed to this sort of toxin-"

"You would die. Exactly why I'm trying to open this door so that I can get to the emergency supplies inside of it."

"But it's locked!" he yelped, banging on it's metal cover.

"Stop making so much racket. I have the bloody key."

"And even if I didn't have the key," I breathed, successfully unlocking the door and retrieving the flimsy mask from inside, "I could still open the door."

"Are you sure that's going to be enough?" he asked as I handed him the second paper mask.

"No. But uncertain death and certain death are two completely different things, and at this point, I would rather it be uncertain."


	5. Chapter 5: Two Forces

The mist-like toxin circled closer towards us, making my heart pound. Alex's hand closed over mine and his chestnut colored eyes stared into mine. I could see him smiling supportively beneath his mask. As I stared back, I realized I had never really looked at Alex before. He had tanned skin, making the darkness of his eyes pop. His nose was straight, but downturned at the tip and his hair was short and blond, but unlike it's usual straight perfection, it was tousled and rumpled as if he had run his hands through it one to many times.

 _Cute,_ I thought, catching myself off guard.

Sweat poured down the side of my face as I closed my eyes and braced myself for the toxin. As it reached us, I remember feeling a dizzying sleepiness. The tingling throughout my body stopped and I smiled, the tension and anxiety being released. Alex fell over and the weight of his head was pressed against my shoulder but I was too relaxed to care.

 _They need to bottle this shit up. Anti-anxiety medicine at it's prime._

And then, the darkness closed in around me, and I slumped into the floor, my eyes shut, and my breaths faint. The freeing feeling of relaxation crept across my body like a cocoon, warm and protective. It was so pleasant that I didn't wake up. I didn't _want_ to.

 _I saw him then_

 _Surrendered and weak_

 _Crying again_

 _With tears down his cheeks._

 _His eyes were dark_

 _Above under-eye shadows_

 _Anciently marked_

 _Wrinkles that showed._

 _Sickly and gray_

 _Pale colored skin_

 _Stuck in his ways_

 _Down deep in the bin._

 _Red-knuckled hands_

 _From holding on_

 _Slipping in sand_

 _Wilting with dawn._

 _Driven despair_

 _Long-lost love_

 _Died without care_

 _In heaven above._

" _I killed her" he said_

 _And fell to his knees_

 _The redness he bled_

 _Beginning to wheeze._

 _Tears came from his eyes_

 _A broken wall_

 _What a surprise_

 _To see Sherlock fall._

 _Up to our necks_

 _In the salt water_

 _I wondered what next_

 _I am his daughter._

 _Swallowing back_

 _Red in the throat_

 _Our voices cracked_

 _Begging to float._

 _Drowning in pain_

 _He cried on still_

 _It became plain_

 _He was going downhill._

" _Let me drown"_

 _He cried from the hurt_

 _Hear his heart pound_

 _See the tears spurt._

 _Like pushing a boulder_

 _Like chopping a tree_

 _His love that still smoldered_

 _Had to be free._

 _Suck in a breath_

 _Wipe up your eyes_

 _It is not death,_

 _It's but a sunrise._

 _A new beginning_

 _Walk away from the past_

 _There is no sinning_

 _I love you, Dad._

 _He swam to the bottom_

 _Searched for the plug_

 _And then I saw him_

 _Give up the pain in his love._

 _He laughed and told me_

 _With a wide smile_

 _That he felt peace_

 _After this long while._

 _I kissed his cheek_

 _With aspirations._

 _No longer meek,_

 _But with determination._

 _He grinned at me_

 _And I grinned back_

 _And what used to be_

 _Started to collapse._

 _It then began_

 _To fall into itself._

 _None to withstand_

 _But to repel._

 _Father gone,_

 _The flooring dried._

 _The curtains drawn_

 _And nowhere to hide._

 _Somewhere inside_

 _I fought to sleep_

 _If only I_

 _Could turn my cheek._

 _But another part_

 _Battled the dark_

 _And in good heart_

 _I pulled apart_

 _From the restfulness_

 _From the memories_

 _And from the relentless_

 _Wall of extremities._

 _Human nature_

 _Pulled at me, tore_

 _And in some kind of vapor_

 _Closed the open door._


End file.
